Manuel Alvarez Bravo, Lucy

Manuel Alvarez Bravo and I walk across the courtyard to the darkroom, maneuvering around bulky, expensive equipment that has been draped and pushed to the corners, unused. Slowly, he makes his way past the tin kitchen cups and eighteenth-century irons that have replaced precise measuring tools and electrical paper presses. A bed of tinted glass marbles sits conspicuously in the sink. Chemicals in hand, he turns his picaro eyes toward me. “Ariadne, after we work on these negatives, maybe you could accompany me to the photo shop. I like to ask them for things I know they don’t have. That way we keep them entertained, no?”

- Ariadne Kimberly Huque, diary excerpt January 11, 1989